


water or wine (don't make me choose)

by capsize (copenhagenborn)



Category: Hockey RPF, Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: 2018-2019 Season, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst with a Happy Ending, Cheating, Content warnings in end notes, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Mentions of homophobia, Polyamory Negotiations, the plural of Rasmus is Rasmi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-19
Updated: 2018-07-19
Packaged: 2019-06-13 01:12:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15352956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/copenhagenborn/pseuds/capsize
Summary: There’s a crooked t on Willy’s wrist when he wakes up. It’s just as dark as the M now, stark against his winter pale skin and very visible from where his sleeve has been pushed up through sleep.He knows it shouldn’t change anything, that Auston is still Mitch’s only soulmate – Willy has seen Mitch’s left wrist, it’s still painfully naked with no trace of Willy’s name anywhere – and probably will be for the rest of their lives. But. Willy just wants, so much.Willy doesn’t even care that Auston would be there too, that he would be holding Mitch’s other hand, as long as Willy at least gets to hold one of them.





	water or wine (don't make me choose)

**Author's Note:**

> content warnings at the end!

Willy comes back from Sweden with an M etched into his wrist.

He sees it by accident, brushing his sleeve away from his wrist after being used to wearing no shirt almost the entire summer. And there it is, placed just above the most visible veins of his wrist, high enough to be covered in the cold Canadian climate, but big enough to notice when his shirt slips. The letter itself is still just a smear, faded and sore as new marks are. The writing is boyish with loopy feet and slanted lines and entirely too familiar in a way Willy cannot place.

Lou used have a rule against exposed soulmarks if you hadn’t completed your bonding ceremony; franchise-issued wristbands that had to be worn at all times including the off-season to avoid too long press scrums after games.

Willy has never actually seen anyone ask for them despite the ever-increasing number of teammates finding their soulmates, either on the team or somehow in relation to it. He watches with interest when the black ink starts to appear, how they’ll suddenly pull their gloves on tighter or hold their hands closer to their chest during showers to make the wristband stick.

Willy doesn’t know what the protocol is about non-standard placed soulmarks, like Connor who has Freddie’s name written out underneath his collarbone, or Zach’s fiancé who had his full name appear along her hairline when he sat down next to her during their freshman year of UMich. But then, not a lot of people have soulmarks that are not on their wrists.

Dubas still hasn’t issued a statement regarding soulmarks and whether they should be covered. Babcock only shrugs at Willy’s exposed wrist and says, “That’s your deal son. ‘m not gonna get involved,” before he goes back to yelling at Mitch and Kadri to stop fucking around.

Willy skates a few laps around the ice and stops by Tavares – who’s still anxiously circling Babs in what he probably thinks is subtle distance – to welcome him personally and invite him to the team lunch they usually have after the first practice of the year.

“You wanna shoot the puck a bit?” Auston asks, coming up behind them to bump Tavares’ shoulder in what’s supposed to be a warm-hearted greeting but falls kind of flat because of Auston’s inability to show emotions outside of Mitchy and hockey-related points. It makes Willy snort, loud enough for Auston to push him against the boards looking constipated.

“I uh, totally. But Mike said something about trying me with Mitch? So I should probably try that,” Johnny says, bland and very on point. Willy doesn’t mind him; it’s not an instant connection like what he had with Auston and Zach, or even Kappy who just pushed his way into Willy’s life after being traded away from his soulmate. But Johnny is funny in a dry kind of way, his voice monotone and flat making every joke he makes sound even funnier.

“For sure, we’ll just see you later, man.” Willy says with a smile, Auston nodding next to him as they watch Johnny skate over and break up whatever trick-shot Mitchy was trying with Kadri.

Auston clears his throat, skating away to put some distance between the two of them and tapping the puck to Willy before regretting and skating back in, “Did he just call Babs _Mike_?” he says with a grin, eyebrows raised in something bordering on pure amusement.

Willy snorts, “Well, they did win a gold medal together. Maybe that grants you _Mike_ privileges.”

Auston laughs, sharp and loud and so inherently _him_ , before he skates backwards to his previous spot with the puck balancing on his blade. “Did you have a good summer? Mitchy said something about you and Kappy going to Sweden together. That must have been fun, eh?”

“It was, _eh_?” Willy teases but his voice is soft. It’s nice that they finally embraced spending every hour of the day together and becoming the same fucking person. “No, yeah. Alex stayed in Buffalo, so we had a room empty in the house. Kappy wanted to get a bit away from Finland and Pittsburgh, and Toronto I guess? We went skiing.”

“In the summer? That’s weird, dude.” Auston comments lazily, batting the puck back to Willy by bouncing it off the boards.

“Auston, buddy, you lived in fucking Switzerland, like a year ago. It’s definitely a thing.”

Auston snorts and passes the puck to Zach who decided to join their circle, “I’m not saying it’s not a thing. I know what summer skiing is, Willy, I lived in fucking Switzerland like a year ago,” and that’s definitely a chirp, “It doesn’t make it any less weird, though.” 

“Oh, for fuck’s sake. What did you do then? Back to Arizona for the summer? Work on that tan of yours,” He skates backwards, stopping just before the blueline to not disturb whatever weird shit Freddie is trying to make Mo and Gards do. Auston and Zach follow, placing themselves with just enough distance between them to make it nature but without the risk of losing the puck to one of the other groups.

“We uh, actually Mitchy invited me to Thornhill for the summer,” Auston says with a smile, big and sappy like he often is when it comes to Mitch. “He wanted to show me where he grew up, properly introduce me to Strome and McDavid, and then we went to Italy with his family for a couple of weeks before going to Arizona.”

Both Mitch and Auston had been born with the other’s soulmark already filled out. Willy doesn’t know when they met for the first time, just that they showed up for camp two years ago with a shared apartment and a need to be playing on the same team.

There had been some rumbling about Auston and Babs arguing during the post season. Auston feeling shitty about is production and partially blaming it on Babs keeping him away from Mitchy on the ice; Auston stomping his feet and using what little leverage being a first overall pick gave you to at have Babs say he would think about a Marner-Matthews line when the ‘19 season came around.

And then Tavares had signed a seven-year contract under the promise of having Mitch on his wing.

Willy doesn’t really care who he’s playing with, the Leafs have plenty of centre-depth, and Willy thoroughly believes he has permanently graduated from the Leafs’ fourth line. But there is a small part of him rejoicing that he’ll get to stay on Auston’s wing at least for the nearest future.

“ … and I heard you finally signed that contract of yours, congrats man!” Willy turns just in time to hear Zach finish his sentence, busy watching Mitch maneuverer his way through both Marleau and Kadri to pass the puck off to Tavares who taps it in behind a blank-faced Freddie.

“Well, someone had to be the first, eh?” Wily laughs, shooting the puck back to Zach who passes it to Auston through his leg without stopping the motion of the puck.

“Heard you left quite a bit of money on the table, though.” Auston adds with a small smile, his voice now softer, careful as he skates just a tad closer to tap Willy’s skate with his stick.

Willy shrugs and returns the tap, “It’s cool man. I just wanted to stay on the team, you know?” And it’s not a lie.

All three of them knew that the minute Tavares signed – at a discount at that – that they would have to take less if they wanted to stay together. The Leafs had plenty of cap-space this year, so in reality Willy could have asked for more, demanded it because of his high production and potential to become an elite player. But Willy is also self-aware to know that both Auston and Mitchy would need contracts bigger than his. Auston because he’s Auston fucking Matthews, the Leafs’ first overall pick destined to one day drag them to the cup finals and finally bring the cup back home.

And then there’s Mitchy who still have a year left on his ECL. Mitchy who played like shit the first half of last season but still somehow ended up as the Leafs’ top scorer. Mitchy who will now play on Tavares’ wing and probably have a banner year driving up his asking price higher than it already is, forcing the Leafs to somehow make space in their cap for at least three superstar contracts.

So no, Willy doesn’t mind earning a little less money if it means he’ll get to stay and play with Auston and Mitch; especially if it means they finally can move past that fucking first round.

Auston smiles, bright and infectious like he rarely does completely sober or not touching Mitchy. But Willy gets it, smiles back just as warmly and tries to keep up when Zach yells at them to switch to another drill.

 

It’s still the pre-season and someone came up with the idea to have a party to introduce Johnny to the team. It’s been the word of the room since Willy arrived from Sweden and he doesn’t really know who started it, just that someone informed him offhandedly that he should be in charge of the invites – “You’re the social guy, Willy! It’s basically in your nature.” Someone says with a cackle, completely ignoring his protests.

So Willy doesn’t really think about it when Kappy hands him a list of names written in chicken-scratched lowercase letters that he skims while pulling off his shirt.

“So, do you know everyone?” Kappy asks absently as he keeps smiling down at his phone instead of changing out of his sweaty practice jersey.

Willy frowns. There are a few names he hasn’t seen before, a couple of prospects still in Toronto before they’re scheduled to leave for juniors or other leagues, fringe NHL players Willy haven’t met before, and then the unreadable part of the list at the end where letters start to slant and become doodles instead of words.

“He should have split it into Leafs and Marlies players, if that helps.” Kappy adds offhandedly, finally looking up from his phone to meet Willy’s unimpressed gaze. “Don’t look at me, I didn’t write it.” He says, as if that makes everything better.

Willy scoffs but takes another look at the list and sure enough, the it _is_ broken into two. The first column with very familiar names and what seems to be numbers or comments on what Willy’s phone should include; and then just above the other list of names is a very familiar capital ‘M’ starting off the _Marlies_. It’s enough for a double take, his eyes flickering between the list and where he’s pushed up his sleeve. And that is very much the same M.

“Hey uh,” Willy says, trying to clear his throat. “Do you know who _did_ write it though?” He’s trying to sound casual, but his pulse is hammering away, blood rushing through his ears and filling his cheeks, and it takes almost all of his willpower to not just turn and go around the room demanding to see everyone’s wrists.

Kappy who has shed his shirt and went back to texting Olli with vigorous thumbs, looks entirely uninterested in Willy’s near freak-out. “I think um, Mo might have made it?” He frowns, shrugging only briefly as he squints across the room.  

Willy follows his gaze, looking where Mo and Gards are sitting almost in each other’s laps making Willy’s heart sink with a sense of dread. Asymmetrical soulmarks aren’t unheard off but having an already paired off couple with as much backstory as Mo and Gards makes it so much more complex than the usual sob stories you hear about.

Dubas had over the summer initiated talks about already extending Jake’s contracts and after agreeing to an extension, Mo and Gards’ wrists had filled out with each other’s full names, stark black against pale skin. It’s rare for a full name to appear over night when neither of them had any smears before, but it’s been known to happen when something pivotal pushes the connection towards lovers rather than best friends.

“They’re still going huh?” Willy asks softly, watching Mo intertwine their fingers as Gards leans in to whisper something in his ear making him snort loudly. It doesn’t necessarily hurt, but there’s definitely a twinge of something uncomfortable in Willy’s heart when Gards leans in to press his lips along his name on Mo’s wrist.

Kappy laughs, sharp and oblivious, “Total honeymoon those two, yeah.” He bumps his shoulder with Willy’s before starting to remove the rest of his clothes, apparently done with letting himself be distracted, “Do you wanna do something tonight? I think Auston is going home for a while before the season starts, so Mitch might be down for something. He’s been planning the party for a while now, so he might need a break.”

Kappy is halfway to the showers when Willy finally catches up with the conversation, busy with staring blankly at Mitchy who’s stretched out on the bench wearing nothing but his underwear as he laughs at Auston. “Did you just say Mitch?” Willy hisses after Kappy’s retreating back.

“Kasu!” He yells after him. When Kappy doesn’t stop, Willy strips down and follows him into the showers, choosing the one right next to Kappy.

“Dude, decorum!” Kappy whines entirely without effort, moving only slightly to the left as if making room for Willy as well.

Willy only shrugs. They’ve lived together for a while now, and Willy has more than once woken up being spooned by a naked Kappy, so sharing a shower doesn’t really rank high on uncomfortable things for Willy.

“You said Mo wrote the list of names,” Willy says instead, his voice insistent as he absently reaches for the good shower gel Kappy tries to keep to himself.

“What?”

“The list! The list of names you just gave me to invite people to the party.” Willy stresses, moving forward to change the water to something a bit warmer, “You said Mo was the one to write it, but now you’re saying Mitch did the planning. Mo and Mitch are not the same person.”

“Yeah, thank you genius.” Kappy snorts, but he’s still frowning as he pulls the shower gel from Willy’s hands to work up a lather, “Why do you even care, dude? So Mitch made the list instead of Mo, it doesn’t really matter. Just chill Willy, the season hasn’t even started yet.” He sounds whiny and childish and Willy would totally hit him if he wasn’t trying to make sense of his game of musical soulmates.

“So, Mitch made the list you gave to me?”

Kappy nods, now apparently resolute in his answer, “For sure, he and someone else decided on the names and then he gave it to me for approval and then I gave it to you, so you could invite everyone.”

He probably says something else after that, chirping him about his insistency of knowing. But Willy doesn’t notice, too set on what just happened.

Everything happens in slow-motions after that; Wily getting out of the shower and getting dressed, Kappy driving them to their place and setting up the game centre, Mitchy joining them after sending Auston off at the airport. Willy doesn’t think he says a single word during that time, letting in Zach, Brownie and Freddie silently before finding his way back to the armchair conveniently placed across from Mitch.

He briefly entertains the idea of asking to see Mitch’s wrist, to see Auston’s name written out on his pale and seeing for himself whether there’s the slightest of possibilities that it might say _William_ instead of Auston.

It dies there on his tongue, a quick and painless death. Because even when his own happiness is at stake, Willy still isn’t sure he could comprise Auston’s trust to gain it for something that might not even be true.

 

 

The i comes in after an OT win, scratched and pale and matching Mitch’s autograph perfectly.

It has become a thing over the last couple of weeks; Willy sitting in front of his laptop with a print of something Mitchy signed and a picture of his wrist, trying to use whatever software and tricks available to him to compare the two. Until now everything had come up with at least 95% accuracy between his soulmark and Mitch’s handwriting.

So when the i comes in with the same slanted line and dot above it, Willy is already entirely convinced that he’ll get at least three more letters.

Willy has known for a while that his soulmate might be a guy, has always found guys just as attractive as girls, partially because of the great hockey he’s been exposed to throughout his entire life.

Willy remembers the first time he saw Nicke skating circles around his dad, passing the puck to Ovechkin and then effortlessly stealing it back only to score a goal. All of it done with such grace and speed that stole his breath away and made his fingers tingle with something that wasn’t quite arousal, but at the very least deep appreciation of the picture Nicke made. Willy knew when he was sixteen, stealing kisses from Pasta and getting sick to his stomach when he had to leave him to play in the SHL.

And Willy knows now, watching Mitch taking off his shirt and pressing himself close to Auston’s side, laughing at whatever shit Kadri is yelling at him, flushed and happy and looking more beautiful than Willy ever remembers seeing him.

He’s trying not to stare, but he has been known to zone out and hyper-focus on something without really seeing it for a while if no one pulls him out of it. He doesn’t think he’s doing it now, but Kappy does look at him funny, bumping their skates together and telling him to get a move on if he wants to celebrate the win with more than just one beer.

 

Willy knows hockey is still an inherently homophobic institution. Even in Sweden where conditions are better, Willy still experienced veterans side-eyeing some of the more progressive younger guys talking about their late-night outings in the locker room. And there’s only so much leeway a soulmark gives you in North America even when you’re a famous hockey player. The Leafs are a good team, must be with that many pairs of players on just one team – but the rest of the league? Willy’s not so sure.

Alex is born with the name Rasmus written along his ulna, so the Nylander boys, already in love with hockey, are given the talk about homophobia in sports at ages five and seven. Willy remembers rolling his eyes and thinking why _he_ needed to here this, he wasn’t the one with the soulmark already filled in with another boy’s name. But he also remembers Alex sitting next to him, reaching for him with a shaky hand and asking their father with wet eyes if they could go to the rink now, please?

Something sticks with him then; if not for himself, then for Alex.

Their father might be retired, but that doesn’t mean they still don’t have connections throughout the leagues – both North American and Swedish. So Willy does his best to vet Alex’s teammates through a friend of a friend who came out playing for the SHL and it works.

And then the draft happens.

There are five players named Rasmus drafted by the NHL and another one eligible for Alex’s year. Rasmus Ristolainen is the only one currently playing in the NHL, so it’s not really a surprise when Alex is drafted to the Sabres alongside Rasmus Asplund at 33rd.

Neither of them makes the team, but Alex does meet both of the Rasmi during camp and is politely told twice that their wrist didn’t fit.

“It’s gonna be alright, Alex. Maybe he just doesn’t play hockey,” Willy says, tucked behind his brother who once again is being sent down to the A. Willy doesn’t mention that Rasmus is almost exclusively a Nordic name and definitely not used in Rochester, New York. He does however make effort to find out if the remaining four players have anything resembling Alex written on their wrists.

Willy doesn’t forget, but he would admit to putting Alex’s crisis on the backburner during the season. At least he does until the Dahlin-hype starts. A baby faced defensive prospect from Sweden estimated to go first overall in the 2018 draft.

“Why are you looking up some kid’s soulmark? That’s a bit weird, Willy.” He remembers Mitch asking, his head in Willy’s lap and eyes fluttered shut for what’s supposed to be a power nap before they’re boarding the plane. Willy just shushes him and clicks through another broken link of the Swedish soulmark database.

Willy tries to send out feelers about Dahlin’s soulmark, but his camp is quiet, reluctant to give out information about anything that isn’t hockey.

The Sabres finishes their season last and wins the draft lottery.

Willy is still heartbroken from the playoff loss, but he flies to Buffalo anyway; locker still full and exit interview all but forgotten. He spends two days listening to Alex freak out about his impending soulmate, going from a full-on panic attack, to Alex getting angry with himself for not figuring it out sooner and then to frustration that Dahlin still might not be the one.

“But we _don’t_ know, Willy. That’s the fucking thing! Who says he has to play hockey?” Alex yells, throwing and kicking the pillows his roommate had precariously bought with no sense of interior decorating. “He could just be some guy back in bum-fuck Sweden who doesn’t even care about the NHL.”

Willy doesn’t say much, just lets him tire himself out until he has to help him get into bed, drunk and stumbling through the apartment. “Listen, you know I would never let anything bad happen to you if I could stop it. So trust me when I say this, everything is going to be alright.” Willy tells him softly, but his voice stays serious. “Dahlin might not be the right guy, but you’ll meet him someday, I promise you that.”

Alex unofficially attends the draft to meet Dahlin under the pretence that a familiar language might be helpful in a stressful situation like the draft. Botterill loves the idea and even offers Alex that he can call out Dahlin’s name. But it’s too much, it would be too heart-breaking for him if Dahlin doesn’t have his name on his wrist either.

Willy’s not there, probably could have if he had wanted to make his case in front of Dubas who’s also planning to draft a Swede in the first round. But Alex texts 30 minutes after Dahlin’s name is called, a blurry picture of Alexander written out in eerily familiar handwriting on pale skin. Rasmus’ soulmark is closely followed by a picture of the two of them embracing, Alex’s short frame tucked into the crook of Dahli – _Rasmus_ ’ neck.

So Willy doesn’t freak out about Mitch being a soulmate, well. Willy doesn’t freak out that Mitch, who is a boy, is his soulmate.

Mitchell Marner, Willy’s _teammate_ and Auston’s freaking soulmate, that is an entirely different story.

 

 

The Leafs have a game against the Coyotes two days after Christmas – well, two days after Swedish Christmas, one day after Canadian Christmas – so Auston goes home to Arizona after their loss against the Pens instead of following the team back to Toronto.

Willy thinks about going to Buffalo to spend the few days with Alex, but Rasmus’ family are flying out and Alex hasn’t stopped talking about their first Christmas together, and. Willy doesn’t want to intrude, not when everything is still new and exciting; when Willy still isn’t sure where he and Dahlin stand after their talk after Alex being sent down to Rochester for another conditioning stint. So Willy goes home to an empty apartment with Kappy staying in Pittsburgh to celebrate with Olli and whatever Pen has decided to take them in this year.

Willy doesn’t mind being alone. He likes the quiet calmness of their apartment, the snow falling heavily outside and the quiet voice of the one Swedish channel he splurged on when he signed his first big contract with the Leafs.

It doesn’t stay like that for long though.

Mitch comes by after his afternoon nap, strutting through the door with a ‘emergencies only’ key in his hand and yelling for Willy to pack a bag.

“Why?” Willy whines at the loud noises. He stretches on the couch and the flimsy blanket he had been using to cover himself falls to the floor. “Where are we going?”

Mitch walks around the couch and drops down on top of him, his bony asses resting on Willy’s stomach, digging into already sore muscles, “You’re coming over for Christmas, of course.” Mitch scoffs like Willy is the slow one. “The rest of the team is covered with Kappy in Pittsburgh, and Freddie with the in-laws.”

“It’s not in-laws if they’re not married,” Willy argues, too tired to come up with any real protests. He does turn around making Mitch fall down until he’s resting on the couch next to Willy instead of on top of him, releasing some of the constraint on his stomach.

“But like, are you sure they’re not?” Mitchy hums, absently throwing an arm around Willy’s neck and pulling him in until he’s resting on Mitch’s chest. “Like, for sure I’ve seen Brownie with a ring somewhere, his finger or a chain, I don’t know. But trust me, I’ve seen it. And it’s not like Freddie would tell us anything if he decided to propose, you know? How would we even know?”

Normally someone would stop Mitch from rambling, and usually that guy is Willy. But right now, Willy is happy with anything that distracts him from the way Mitch’s body is pressed against his, how each breath of his can be felt against Willy’s chest, the warm puff of air against his hair and Mitchy’s big hand cupping and squeezing his shoulder with no seemingly pattern.

“Willy, are you listening bud? Like, how would we know?” Mitch asks again, this time a bit more serious as if Freddie really would have gotten married without at least Auston present; which would ultimately lead to Mitchy knowing quicker than Freddie’s own parents probably.

But instead Willy just sighs, pushing more into Mitch’s hands and says, “You’re right Marns. They probably are married.”

There’s a faint, “I told you so,” as Mitch pushes him to ground before taking over the couch. “We have to leave in like, 30 minutes? Mom’s already cooking and you kinda have to bring a present or two for everyone, so we might be in a hurry.”

Willy spends one minute on the ground just taking everything in, before looking back up at Mitch with confused eyes, “I have to bring what now?”

“Presents, Willy! It’s Christmas and I have a niece.” Mitch tells him seriously, “She wouldn’t understand if you didn’t bring her anything for Christmas. And like, if you give to one you have to give to everyone.”

“I’m not sure that’s how it works, Mitchy.” Willy adds as he gets up.

“For sure though.”

He hums unconvinced but moves towards the bedroom anyway to stuff a couple of shirts into a bag. “Will there be presents there for me too then?”

“Don’t be greedy Willy! You’re a late arrival, you can’t expect people to take you into account when they did their Christmas shopping.” Mitch yells backs, and it’s just so fucking _Mitchy_ that Willy can’t help but smile, big and wide and hurting in his cheeks.

 

Willy’s never been good at buying gifts, but he makes do with whatever shitty store Mitch drove him to before kicking him out of the car and told him he had another 30 minutes before they needed to be on the way to Thornhill.

They’re not late though, so at least one of them must have been on time, pulling in just in time to see Mitch’s brother help his daughter out of the car. Mitch is out of the car and at Chris’ side quicker than Willy’s ever seen him move on the ice, goading his brother into handing over his niece.

“Willy, get over here, I have someone you need to meet!” Mitch yells excitedly, raising the baby’s tiny hand to wave at him.

Willy moves slowly, taking the keys from the car and making sure it’s locked before pulling the presents from the backseat and walking to Mitch who’s looking at him funny.

“Are you afraid of babies, Willy?” he teases with too much glee making his brother roll his eyes and pull his wife with him inside muttering something about helping their mother with the cooking.

Willy scoffs and moves in until he’s flush against Mitch’s side, one hand on the small of Mitch’s back and the other on the baby’s, “You do know I have like a million younger siblings, who all at some point were babies, yeah?”

Mitchy rolls his eyes, but his smile is fond. “Willy meet Sophie, the newest member of the Marner family. Sophie, this is William, he plays hockey with me and Auston.” Sophie doesn’t look impressed, but she’s a good baby and doesn’t mind Willy shaking her hand to make Mitch laugh.

“It’s very nice to meet you Miss Sophie, I’ve brought you a lot of presents.” Willy tells her seriously, smoothly accepting her as Mitch thrusts her into his arms before disappearing into the house, “Looks like it’s just the two of us now, eh?” Sophie babbles conversationally but does seem to look around for someone she can actually recognise, so Willy follows the family inside.

The Marner’s might be a small family but they are certainly not quiet.

Sophie is taken from his arms the minute they reach the living room; Chris’ wife, Hannah greets him politely before muttering something about a ‘before-dinner-nap’. And then Paul is pulling him into a hug and asking about his family, “How is Alexander during in the Rochester? That’s where he is right now, correct?” and would Willy like a beer or a glass of red?

Willy loves to talk with people who actually know their hockey but doesn’t play themselves. It gives them a different perspective that players sometimes ignore because it’s not something they can fix during a practice or scrimmage. Paul definitely knows his hockey, either from personal interest or from raising two Toronto boys with one of them turning out to be an NHL player. 

Bonnie tries to brush him aside when he comes to help in the kitchen, but Willy has always been overly polite in homes that aren’t his own or like, Kappy’s or something. His mother always says, “Either you help with dinner or you help with the cleaning, it’s your choice.” And Willy’s never been good at doing the dishes, even when presented with a dishwasher.

“You should come by more often,” Bonnie hums, checking the turkey’s temperature, “Mitch and Auston try to make the trip out at least twice a month, and you are more than welcome to join them, sweetie.” She reaches out and pats his cheek with her free hand, soft and motherly in a way that makes Willy’s heart ache.

“I’m, uh. I’ll do that, for sure Mrs. Marner.” Willy says softly, flushed cheeks and a small smile on his lips.

“Oh, call me Bonnie, William. I am too young to be a missus.”

Mitch appears just before the timer goes off, winded and flushed cheeks with a panting Chris hanging off his shoulders, “Need us to set the table, mom?” His eyes meet Willy’s, watching him prepare the salad and pouring gravy into silverware with a smile that’s just a tad off.

“Oh, there you are Mitchell, Christopher. You can’t just bring guests and then leave them to do your chores,” Bonnie says sharply, watching them with eyes that make them both shrink. “Did you even offer him anything to drink, Mitch?” Chris uses that as an excuse to gather as many things in his arms and leave the room.

“ _Mooom_ ,” Mitchy whines as he leans on one of the kitchen isles, “He can get his own water, he’s older than me!”

Bonnie sighs resigned and looks at Willy with a look of ‘what can you do?’, “He could’ve wanted something other than water, Mitchell, and it’s not everyone who feels comfortable just taking things out of people’s fridges without asking.”

Willy laughs silently watching Mitch splutters in an attempt to defend himself, but Willy cuts him off with an innocent look, “I’m just trying to be a good guest, Mitchy. Don’t you want me to come back here?” 

Bonnie nods in agreement, conveniently turned towards Willy so she doesn’t see the finger Mitch gives him behind her back, “Well, the food is ready. So when you and your brother have set the table we can get started. Willy, why don’t you come and help me choose the wine for the dinner?” she asks with a soft smile as she puts an arm around Willy’s shoulders and leads him out of the kitchen, leaving Mitch a spluttering mess.

 

There’s only three bedrooms in the Marner house, and even then Sophie’s weekend bed has been placed in the living room leaving the couch uninhabitable if Willy actually wants to get some sleep during the night. “We’re trying to get her to sleep through the night without us coming running all the time,” Hannah had said apologetic as she put her down for the night, tucked in with a million plushies and her soft green pacifier.

“I’m so sorry bud, I hadn’t even realised,” Mitch says, toothbrush sticking out of his mouth as he makes the bed ready for the two of them, “Like, Auston just sleeps in the bed with me, so I hadn’t thought this was going to a problem. But like, of course.” He shrugs as he throws the extra pillows onto Willy’s side of the bed before leaving to spit out.

The thing is that. Mitchy doesn’t seem all that bothered by having to share a bed with him. Willy knows that Mitch is very close with a lot of friends, has seen the pictures of him, McDavid and Strome where if it wasn’t for Strome’s tan and McDavid’s reddish tint, you wouldn’t know where one of them ended and the other two began. He’s also heard the rumours about the CHL and the O in particular; has heard bits and pieces about the Knights and how they celebrated their Mem Cup win.

So Willy knows it’s not a big thing, that Mitchy is used to sharing a bed with other guys; _Willy_ is used sharing his bed with other guys – mainly Kappy, but that’s a different matter entirely. But it still makes Willy’s heart flutter in a way that it _shouldn’t_ when it involves his best friend’s soulmate; even if he also sort of happens to be Willy’s.

“By the way, I got you a present.” He says, coming out of the bathroom wearing nothing but a pair of Leafs sweats that’s definitely not his based on the length of the leg.

“You didn’t have to do that, Marns.” Willy tells him, throat dry and very thankful that the lightening is soft and focused away from his flushing cheeks, “I’m just glad you invited me to come here,”

“Of course man. No one should spend Christmas alone, and I know you still feel weird about inviting you into people’s houses,” Willy tries to protest, but Mitch just talks over him, “I know you don’t like to be pushy, at least not in that way, but sometimes you have to look out for yourself, you know? And just take whatever you need to make yourself happy.” Mitchy looks very serious as he sits down on the bed with a small package in his hands, and Willy can’t help but nod.

He knows Mitch isn’t talking about their situation, doesn’t know anything about their situation. But it makes him wonder, if maybe he should just go for it and say fuck Auston for not wanting Willy to be happy.

But now isn’t the time, not when Mitchy is nudging the present closer to him with a shy smile, looking way too cautious for a guy who spent the night telling his family all of Willy’s short-comings after two glasses of wine.

“Don’t you want me to open it tomorrow with the rest of the gifts?” He asks, lightly pulling at the soft ribbon Mitchy himself must have tied around the box, lopsided and loose in the best way.

“Nah, you do it the 24th right? Like in Sweden, you have presents on Christmas Eve instead of the 25th, yeah?” Mitch says softly, his cheeks red and his voice hesitant but he doesn’t look nervous; he looks, prepared, _informed_ but still cautious as if afraid someone might have given him bad information.

“Yeah, that’s.” Willy sniffs, just once before nodding softly, “We do open presents the 24th in Sweden, that’s. How did you know that?”

Mitchy clears his throat, looking away from Willy whose heart hasn’t slowed down since Mitch nudged the present across the bed, “Uh, I asked Kappy about, but uh, apparently they do some weird shit with multiple days of Christmas, or something? So I went to Freddie instead, Denmark is sort of Sweden, isn’t it?”

Willy snorts which quickly turns into a soft laugh, “Don’t let him hear you say that, he would _hate_ that. So you should totally say it to his face next time we’re both there.”

“Hey, I bought you a present, you have to be nice to me.” Mitchy whines, but it’s fond as he bumps their shoulders together.

“Sorry, Mitchy. I’ll protect you from the big, bad Dane if he tries anything.” Willy promises. He throws an arm around his shoulders and pull him in until their sides are flushed together, pulling at the ribbon to undo the bow, “You know you didn’t have to, right?” He repeats, this time more serious. “Like, I’m very happy to be here, and I’m probably gonna love your present. But, I’m not your responsibility; you don’t have to make sure the entire team is paired off.”

It’s something Willy had noticed over the past two years, how obsessed Mitchy had become with making sure no one on the team was alone for too long.  How he would host team dinners or game nights until he was sure that every new guy had at least one they could turn to other than Mitchy himself if they felt the need to. How he had basically plastered himself to Johnny’s side the first couple of months when he seemed nervous or unsure how to enter a conversation with the younger guys; how Mitchy had drawn out parts of John they hadn’t seen before until he didn’t need Mitchy behind him to approach someone for something other than hockey.

But Mitchy just shrugs and smiles at him, “I don’t have to no, but it’s nicer this way, eh? Better for team chemistry too, if no one gets too co-dependent on just one guy.” He says softly, squeezing Willy’s hand that’s wrapped around the box, “But like, you’re not that Willy. You’re one of my best friend, and of course you’re welcome here whenever you want to. It might seem that way, but I wouldn’t just invite everyone to spend Christmas with my family. I hope you know that, bud.”

Willy doesn’t know how to respond that isn’t “I love you, can I please put my lips on yours and keep them there forever?” so he doesn’t. Instead he pulls his hands from Mitchy and finishes opening the present, trying to keep the lump in his throat from making him cry.

It turns out to just be something dump, a souvenir Mitchy must have found while Willy was in the shop, something with the Swedish flag on it and a sentence that doesn’t translates well. But it’s still one of the better presents Willy has ever gotten.

“Thank you Mitchy, I love it.” He says softly and pulls Mitchy into his arms for a hug. It’s too long for a normal hug between friends, but Mitch’s never really known proper hugging etiquette between dudes, and right now Willy doesn’t fucking care; he just wants to keep Mitch in his arms forever.

They do pull apart at some point, when Mitchy starts to yawn and Willy can feel his eyes start to get heavy. But neither of them strays too far, staying in the middle of the bed, Willy’s hand just slightly nudging against Mitch’s. Willy falls asleep before he finds out if Mitch moves the final inch, and maybe it’s better not to know.

 

There’s a crooked t on Willy’s wrist when he wakes up. It’s just as dark as the M now, stark against his winter pale skin and very visible from where his sleeve has been pushed up through sleep.

Willy just lies there for a while, content with the heavy weight of Mitch on his chest, a heavy arm anchoring him to the bed. He doesn’t want to move, but Willy knows Christmas day is not the time for Mitch to find out what he has been hidden this past months. So Willy stretches and pulls his sleeve back down, keeping one hand on the back of Mitch’s head to make sure he stays asleep.

He knows it shouldn’t change anything, that Auston is still Mitch’s only soulmate – Willy has seen Mitch’s left wrist, it’s still painfully naked with no trace of Willy’s name anywhere – and probably will be for the rest of their lives. But. Willy just wants, _so much_.

Willy just wants to stay lying next to Mitch and watch him wake up without having to pretend he also just woke up, that he was too slow and lazy to remove the hand that’s clutching Mitch’s hip like he never wants to let him go. He wants to walk down the stairs and promise Bonnie they’re going come by during bye-week even though all he really wants is to spend a week naked with Mitch on a Greek island and come back holding hands in the locker room.

Willy doesn’t even care that Auston would be there too, that he would be holding Mitch’s other hand, as long as Willy at least gets to hold one of them.

 

 

Willy spends a lot of time talking to Alex over the phone.

Part of it is plainly homesickness; the lack of anything inherently Swedish in Toronto, Ontario, and the new guys’ reluctance to speak Swedish around the team as if it might alienate them from them. So it helps hearing Alex talk abut his team, Rasmus muttering in familiar Swedish in the background.  

It’s weird listening to them together, talking about the same thing but in so different ways; Rasmus fluent in his Swedish hockey words and how to phrase them, while Alex is still a bit rocky from the long time spent away from a Swedish rink, forgetting words and substituting them for English ones that roll easier of his tongue.  

So it’s really not a surprise when the Leafs plays the Sabres at home that Willy finds two blond Swedes waiting in front of his car. They’re both wearing day-old sweats just ill-fitting enough that Willy just knows they somehow managed to switch despite their stalls being nowhere near each other.

“Shouldn’t you two be on your way to the hotel? Or do first overall picks not have a curfew?” Willy asks tiredly but unlocks the car anyway. Because while he doesn’t really feel up to entertaining two teenagers after they just shut his team out, he does know Alex won’t go away without a fight.

Leaned against the car both of their bags at his feet, Rasmus just shrugs, “I can leave if you don’t want me to be here,” he says, his voice bland like Willy’s heard him talk to the media when they get particular cruel about his bond with Alex.

And that’s not how Willy wants him to feel when he’s talking to his brother-in-law. Willy does want both of them to leave and not follow him back to his apartment on this particular night, but that doesn’t mean that Rasmus isn’t welcome any other day that he wants to stop by.

So Willy sighs and throws their bags into the back of the car, “I’m not feeding you.” Willy says firmly as he slides into the driver seat, “I only have enough leftovers for myself, so you’re welcome to anything in the fridge but I’m not gonna help you prepare it.”

The guys just shrug and get into the backseat, like Willy’s still the older brother driving Alex to his playdates – “They’re not playdates! I’m two years younger than you,” Alex had yelled on numerous occasions, “I’m getting my license next year, see if I’ll drive you anywhere ever!”

Kappy’s not there when they get home and Willy doesn’t know if it’s on purpose or just a lucky happenstance.

Willy does make good on his promise and heats up the content of the Tupperware container in one bowl before sitting down in his couch, leaving Alex and Rasmus to snoop around the kitchen for something to eat. Rasmus ends up with a banana that he brings with him into Willy’s room before shutting the door, leaving Willy with a circling Alex that looks too relaxed to be entirely true. 

“So, you’ve been a bit weird lately.” Alex says bluntly, nudging Willy away from the corner until he’s made a seat for himself, “We’re both on playoff tracks, so I thought it would be better to have the talk now rather than having it after the post-season.” 

“That’s a bit ambitious there, buddy.” Willy replies harshly, still shovelling food into his mouth. “Like I know you love him, but one first overall pick doesn’t make a hockey team.”

Alex rolls his eyes and jams an elbow into his side, “Yeah, because that certainly didn’t work out for you guys. Do you wanna keep talking shit or should we just get it over with, so you can make a decent impression on my boyfriend?”

“Shouldn’t he be the one wanting to make a good impression on _me_?” Willy scoffs and pushes back with equal strength before escaping to the other corner of the couch. “My acceptance in this family isn’t up for discussion, you know.”

Alex doesn’t say anything, but his face is bobbing side to side as if saying, ‘well …’

“Oh, fuck off.”

 

They’re quiet for a bit, just the hum of the television and Willy’s spoon clinking against the bowl.  

“You know I don’t care about whatever it is, Willy.” Alex says softly. He moves across the free seat of the couch and holds onto one of Willy’s wrist, “You’re just. You’ve been off lately, and I know we don’t have that much time together, but I just want you to be happy, Will. And right now, you’re not.

“And it’s so fucking frustrating to me that you won’t let me help. You’ve done so much for me, for my hockey, for Rasmus and me, and it’s just. Why won’t you let me help you?” he adds gently, finally moving all the way across the couch until they’re sitting flushed together.

Willy takes a shuddering breath. It’s hurts to know he’s made Alex feel like this, that he’s noticed Willy pulling away and felt like a bad brother for not doing something. And like, telling Alex wouldn’t make a difference, right? It’s not like it’s going to get more real just because someone beside him knows that Mitch is his soulmate. Knowledge is nothing without intend.

At least that’s what Willy is trying to convince himself of as he pushes up the sleeve of the arm Alex’s holding with shaking hands.

“Oh,” Alex lets out softly, holding his wrist in a gentle hand, one finger tracing the three letters over and over until it feels too weird having someone else touch it and he has to pull away, “And you’re sure it’s him?”

Willy isn’t surprised Alex already knows whose name it’s going to spell out. Willy’s never been shy about his affections and he’s never talked about anyone but Mitch with those three letters.

So Willy nods, slow and miserable as Alex keeps his eyes on the darkening letters, “I even compared the handwriting. It’s definitely Marns.”

And in a way Willy thought this was going to be the end of the discussion; that Alex as someone bonded would understand why Willy hasn’t pursued this any further.

But Alex is still looking at him expectantly, like he still has shit to say about it, and Willy doesn’t have time to get his hopes up, “What.” He says flatly, pushing at Alex’s hand until he lets up on his wrist.

“If you already know who it is, and you _know_ him, why haven’t you made a move yet?”

Willy scoffs, loud and annoyed. “He’s with Auston, Alex.” He says slowly, his voice very close to condescending. “Auston as in my best friend and the number one centre of the NHL team I’m currently signed with for the next seven years?”

“So? A lot of people have multiple soulmates. It’s not weird anymore, Willy.” Alex is still calm, his voice soft and unprovoked. And just for this moment, Willy hates him.

“He doesn’t even have my mark, Alex! Why don’t you get that is a problem?!”

“Well, yours appeared suddenly, didn’t it? At least I know you weren’t born with it, so who’s to say his won’t just appear one day? You’re being too hard on yourself, you just need that defining moment.”

Willy takes a deep breath, breathing in until everything starts to hurt and his throat begins to shake, holds it just long enough for everything to settle before letting it go. “Alex, bro. You know asymmetrical marks run in the family.” He says defeated, sitting down just out of Alex’s reach to put a hand on his ankle.

And. Like, Willy knows it’s a hard subject for his younger siblings – Alex especially because of his long struggle of finding Rasmus. But realistically, they all know that their mother has a different name than their father’s on her wrist. That she met her soulmate in college who was nowhere near interested in pursuing a bond with her, and that it was only after meeting their father with his blank wrist and blatant disregard for soulmates that she finally let herself fall in love.

“That doesn’t mean you can’t at least try, Willy.” Alex says quietly, soft and vulnerable as he moves down the couch until he’s engulfing Willy completely. “I know there’s a reason you have his name on your wrist, and yeah he may never get yours; but he might, and isn’t that more important than not trying?”

 

 

Willy starts to notice things differently after Alex and Rasmus leave.

He doesn’t know if he’s always been sitting this close to Mitch when they go out for lunch, sharing a starter even though they both know they could finish at least three between the two of them; how their hugs are just a little bit longer than how Willy hugs anyone else on the team, clutching him tightly with a hand linger on the small of his back. Willy texting him a ‘good morning’ when he wakes just to see if he wants to get breakfast in case Auston is still sleeping in.

But it’s not like. Willy doesn’t think they’re anything wrong with that, he’s just being a good friend, making sure Mitch is fed and taken care of.

At least that’s how he felt until Kappy starts to notice too.

“Hey Mitchy, is that a new shirt?” Willy grins as he watches Mitch come into the locker room.

Mitch looks down at his shirt before smiling at him, wide and happy. “For sure. It’s from that new store in the mall, you know the, uh. Yeah, I don’t know the name, but like. It’s good.” Mitchy tell him as he crosses the room, fingering the fabric and holding it out to let Willy have a feel.

“It’s soft, yeah.” Willy bobs his head, bumping their shoulders together, “It looks good on you, Marns.”

“You think so?” he says coyly, but there’s a grin on his lips and they both know he looks great. “Thanks bud.”

Willy squeezes his hip and steps back towards his stall, “You should show me the store someday, I would love to see what else they have.”

“Yeah? I can do that, for sure.” He’s still grinning as he goes back to his stall to greet Tavares who brought coffee for him and Zach – “It’s liney-bonding!” Mitch yells when Kadri calls bullshit on the preferential treatment, “You’re just bitter because you miss me.” “Oh, fuck off, Mitchell!”

“We’ll make it a date,” Willy says with a wink before going back to his own stall where Kappy is waiting, looking a bit perplexed. “What’s up? Olli coming back to the apartment tomorrow?” They’re edging closer to the end of the season and both teams are in playoff spots, so Willy knows Kappy is trying to fit in as much time with Olli as possible before they’re too busy to make time for each other.

“Are you flirting with Mitch?” Kappy says bluntly instead of replying, bright eyes sharp and watching Willy like a hawk.

Willy snorts, taking off his clothes so he’s not too late for practice, “Sure, and tomorrow I’m hooking up with Mo.” But Kappy’s not laughing, he’s not even moving when Babs comes by the room to hurry up the late-arrivals. “Wait, are you serious?” He lowers his voice, looking around quickly too make sure no one’s too close to listen in. “What. The. Fuck. I’m not flirting with Mitch, Kasu!”

But Kappy just stares at him blankly, pulling on his skates with practiced ease, “Sure looked like you were,” he says slowly, keeping eye contact with Willy. “ _Sounded_ like you were too.”

“He’s my friend. I know you struggle with that concept from time to time,” Willy barks, pulling his gear on with stiff movements, “Just because I’m nice to him, doesn’t mean I want to fuck him.”

“I’m not saying anything about fucking, William. I’m telling you that the way you just talked to him sounded like you were trying to put the moves on him. And don’t tell me I’m wrong, because I know you – I fucking live with you.”

At some point they slipped into their weird mixture of Finnish and Swedish for when they don’t want the rest of the team to listen in, but had somehow forgotten that Freddie likes to be the last player out on the ice during practice, sitting just a few stalls away and watching them with dark eyes. “I’m sure Auston would find this very interesting.” Freddie says slowly, his intonation bored but his words a perfect mix of their jumbled Finnish and Swedish.

He doesn’t elaborate as he gets up and walks out of the room, leaving a flushed Willy with Kappy who also looks like he’s about to bolt.

“It’s not like he’s interested, okay? Nothing is going to happen.” Willy says through clenched teeth, pulling the white shirt over his pads before turning towards Kappy.

Kappy sighs and shakes his head, “That’s not really reassuring me, ‘He’s not interested’. Fucking hell, Willy.”  And Willy knows that sounds bad, but he doesn’t know how else to describe it; how to explain that he would probably do something if Mitch seemed into it without sounding like a bad friend.

Kappy doesn’t stick around for his explanation – not that Willy would have any – storming out of the locker room to join the rest of the team. Willy slides down until he’s seated on the floor, skates making a horrible sound as they move across the floor. He frees his wrist and removes the Ace bandage he’s been using in lieu of a wristband to trace the three letters with a shaking finger.

He doesn’t have long, practice started for at least five minutes ago but Willy’s already committed himself to bag shaking the afternoon away when Auston comes jogging into the locker room, except he’s on skates so it’s more like taking extremely long step and trying not to fall over.

“Oh, I didn’t see you there, Willy.” He says softly, quickly going to his stall and pick up whatever he came for before coming closer, “Anything wrong, dude?” He crouches down just in time for Willy to pull down his sleeve.

“Nah, I’m just. It’s been a hard couple of weeks, you know?” Willy says with a small smile, trying to keep his breath as even as he can with adrenalin pumping through his veins.

But Auston just nods and offers him a hand up, “Yeah, but I mean number two in the Atlantic and clinching a playoff spot kinda makes up for it, right?”

And like, Willy hadn’t even thought about it like that, but sure.

 

 

They don’t stay number two in the Atlantic, not with Tampa gearing up just before the trade deadline and finally closing the deal on Karlsson, but third behind Boston is fine too – playoffs are playoffs are playoffs – and their away record might not be great, but it’s alright.

Mitch brings Willy to that store and they walk out with too many bags and a small, local twitter trend after eating lunch together at one of Mitch and Auston’s date spots. And Willy might understand Kappy scepticism after looking at the pictures online. It’s very obvious in them how Willy looks at Mitch, his laughs too big and smiling too wide at Mitch’s dumb jokes, the fleeting hand on his when the waiter had spilled their drinks when refilling their glasses and both of them going to move Mitch’s phone.

It’s a lot, Willy realises.

But, as Alex texts him after, it’s not necessarily a lot of bad things Willy is feeling.

 

It’s the last game before the playoffs start and they’re playing the fucking Habs who are dead last in the entire league. So it’s not really a surprise when Babs sends out the call-ups more than his first and second line to allow them to rest before game one in a few days.

Willy and Auston are playing with one of the Marlies players who’s been called up for depth and to see how he settles under the pressure of being on Auston’s wing. Willy’s fighting for the puck in their own zone, one of the Habs’ defencemen that isn’t Weber trying to knock him off it when he hears someone crashing Freddie’s net.

They both turn around, Willy still with the puck on his blade to watch Gallagher lying on top of Freddie, skates pointing the wrong way and crowding him in a way that just looks _wrong_. So Willy isn’t really surprised when Auston comes rushing in to separate them, pulling Gallagher out of the crease by his shirt.

It’s not a real fight, so Willy’s just skating loose circles around the net, waiting for the right minute to jump in and get back to actually playing hockey. Gallagher slips and falls, and from the wrong angle it almost looks like Auston pushing him down. And maybe Willy’s the one not thinking fast enough and going in to pull Auston away from the boards, but he just sees the red jersey and doesn’t even have enough time to think ‘Shit’ before Shaw is crushing Auston against the boards.

It’s nowhere near a clean hit with the puck calmly resting in a linesman’s hand, and while Shaw’s a small guy, the speed he had behind him makes a horrible sound when he collides with Auston.

Mo is there in a second, dragging both Shaw and Gallagher away from Auston who just crumbles onto the ice, stick forgotten in favour of clutching his already bad shoulder. Freddie’s crouching down next to him when Willy skates by, just circling the two of them in case someone else thought it might be worth it to try another hit.

He gets eye contact with Mitch who looks absolutely freaked, shaking and biting into the edge of his jersey looking like he’s one wrong word away from going onto the ice himself. Willy does spot Marleau with an arm around his waist, and Tavares with a hand in the back of his shirt, both anchoring him to the bench.

At some point he’s tapped by Freddie to help Auston back to the bench, one arm around the shoulder that isn’t hurting while Mo drags him by his waist. Auston doesn’t talk as they hand him over to the trainers, expert hands knowing where they can hold him without hurting him.

It’s a different game after that.

Willy doesn’t get anymore ice time, nor does Tavares or Mitch. But Kappy tears it up on the third line with Kadri, chasing Price out of his net until the final score is 7-1.

Auston’s in the dressing room when they trickle in, arm in a sling and looking annoyed as he sits in Mitch’s stall. He puts his arms around Mitch the second he gets close enough and pulls him down into his lap and just, doesn’t let go, even as the rest of the team start to get dressed into their suits.

Willy doesn’t remember who, he just knows it’s not Auston who tells them he’s not playing in the first half of round one. His shoulder needs rest if he wants to avoid surgery in the post season. Willy knows Auston doesn’t agree, knows that’s why Mitch is currently not talking to him despite sitting in his lap in full gear; because of course Auston would play through the playoffs even if it meant he would miss out on the preseason.

 But playing injured is never a good idea, especially not in a contract year this early in one’s career.

 

With Auston out of the line up against Boston, Willy is moved to Tavares’ other wing opposite Mitch. It’s their first time playing an actual game on the same line because of Babs’ reluctance to have Mitch and Auston on the same line while also not wanting to separate Willy and Auston.

Because both Willy and Mitch usually play on the right side, they spend the days between he Habs game and game one against Boston on the ice figuring out who is best where. It’s not that big of an adjustment to make, Willy knows, but it’s weird to lining up on the wrong side of his centre, receiving the puck from the right instead and shooting left.

Babs finally decides to switch Mitch to the left wing, claiming he’s better at adapting to the change than Willy who’s still fumbling a bit with Tavares’ passes.

Something must change between practice and the actual game, because Willy is fucking flying between Bruins players, catching the puck with his stick and then passing it without looking to where Mitch is placed just to the left of Rask and taps it in without the goaltender even moving. And it doesn’t stop there, their line scoring three goals to add to Kappy’s two for a clean win.

They don’t go out to celebrate; they have a game in two days and no one wants to risk it; not even Mitch who is practically vibrating out of his skin sitting in his stall.

Auston calls when they’re all showered. It’s only a brief call, Mitch putting him on speaker with the team crowding in around the phone as if that makes them able to hear more. Auston sounds tired, but he’s proud that they won – there’s a joke about them doing it without him but it falls flat, and no one really knows who said it – because as happy as he sounds for them, he sounds to be hurting as just much, the ache almost palpable even over the phone.

Mitch quiets after that and follows Connor back to their room without protest.

 

It’s not before they’re 45 minutes into game 2 and still carrying the lead with 6-2 that Willy realises his line is putting up real minutes against the Bruins’ top line – the highest ranked line in the NHL – and actually winning.

Mitchy is one goal away from a dick trick and Willy wants so badly to give it to him, to prove to Babs that their line is great – that a line with them and Auston would be so over the top because of the chemistry between the three of them – but Willy can settle for the secondary assist as Tavares shoots the puck to Mitch who puts it top shelf behind Rask with just one minute left on the clock.

They go out to the nearest club that doesn’t know they’re hockey players.

Someone shells out for top shelf champagne and Willy doesn’t know why it’s such a big deal to him when he’s literally a millionaire, but he can’t help but laugh, leaning into Mitch who’s just as lit as himself, swallowing bubbles like it’s Gatorade after a game.

There’re shots and drinks and beers that tastes like crap and making Willy miss Tuborg, but it works.

He doesn’t think about the fact that they’re only halfway there, another five games left to be played if the Leafs can’t pull another two wins. Instead he moves through the crowds until he’s back on the dance floor, throwing his head back and allows the music to consume him.

People keeps coming up to him, a hand on his hip or a smaller body pressing up against his back and Willy knows it would be easy to go back to someone’s house and let himself forget Mitch and the way he looked at him those last seconds of the game, forget everything about soulmates and drown in pleasure for just one night.

But Mitch is still hanging at the bar, goading Johnny into drinking another shot even if Mitch himself stopped drinking three beers ago. And he just, he looks so fucking beautiful in the shitty club lightening too harsh and dim at the same time. And then Mitchy looks over, eyes bright as he watches Willy dance by himself, sweaty and happy and without a care in the world with Mitch’s eyes on him.

He doesn’t really notice Mitch moving until he’s suddenly just _there_ , standing in front of Willy with a coy smile before he moves in until they’re chest to chest, one legs of his tucked between Willy’s. it’s not really that kind of song but Willy makes it works, sweaty hands on Mitch’s hips, one of them slipping under his tee-shirt and squeezing until Mitch’s eyes flutter and he moves even closer.

Willy’s seen Mitch dance with Auston plenty of times; but this is different, Willy doesn’t engulf Mitch in the same way Auston does. They’re more equal, both in size and temperament, and Willy’s never really had a preference before, but Mitch’s arms holding him tight against his chest is definitely a quick favourite.

They’re not really grinding, but Willy can feel that Mitch is half hard against his thigh, his hips making the tiniest circles against Willy’s perfectly in time with the music. Mitch’s breath is soft against the skin of his throat, small puffs of air coming quicker now than before until Willy feels the soft skin of Mitch’s lips hovering just beneath his ear.

It makes his breath hitch but in the best kind of way, and Willy squeezes his legs around Mitch’s to show him. But Mitch doesn’t move in, just keeps hovering and not-grinding down against Willy’s thigh until he’s sure Mitchy must be on the brink of coming. But even then, Mitch keeps the pace, holding Willy against him to the beat of the music until they’re both out of breath.

 

They separate at one point, Mitch looking flushed and hotter than Willy’s ever seen him.

And for a while, neither of them moves, just looking at each other with clear intend in their eyes, and Willy is sure they’re going to kiss; that one of them is going to lean in and that will be all for Willy’s restraint, because Willy won’t be able to say no if Mitch asks now.

But then Kappy is coming, looking anything but happy as he drags them both to the coat room while telling them they’re going home, “They’re closing in 30 minutes, and I would like to avoid the rush.” He says tightly, gripping Willy’s shoulder too hard as he calls them an uber.

Mitchy looks to be oblivious to Willy’s pain as he shrugs into his hoodie and leans against Willy’s side while they wait, head resting against his shoulder as Mitch mutters something about the game. Willy doesn’t look up at Kappy, but he can feel him watching them as Willy puts his arms around Mitch, hugging him closer in the chilly Boston air.

They separate in the lobby, Mitch and Connor are on one of the lower floors while Willy and Kappy’s room is near the top of the building. They don’t talk in the elevator, just the pesky sound of the music with no end filling the silence.

It doesn’t last, because the minute Willy is closing the door behind them, Kappy turns on him with a look that’s more judgemental than usual.

“What?” Willy says offhandedly, rolling his eyes before pulling off his shirt and replacing it with one with softer sleeves. Kappy doesn’t speak so he moves forward with his pants and socks until he’s in loose sweatpants and the shirt. “Please just say whatever you want Kappy, I’m tired and you’re bumming me out.”

Kappy looks at him with pinched lips, eyes stormy as he clenches his fists, “Do you need me to tell you how many guys he slept with in the O? Or maybe just the guys currently on an NHL roster, that might be easier, actually.”

“And how would that help me Kappy? What would that for me?” Willy says, painfully patient. He’s too tired to connect Mitch’s flair for sex in juniors with whatever is happening between them now.

Kappy sighs but it’s harsher, more like an angry snort than anything else. “Mitchy flirts, William. That’s just a thing he does, something he has always done and probably always will do. But there’s a difference between how Mitchy used to be and how he is now.” He explains plainly, and someday Willy is going to wonder who told Kappy about Mitch’s OHL experiences because it sure as hell wasn’t Mitchy himself. “Do you need me to tell you that difference?”

Willy is already at the edge of his patience, tired and annoyed and more than ready to sleep away what was supposed to be a great night before Kappy shat on it, “Why don’t you? You seem to enjoy enlightening me so much already, what does one more thing change?”

“He has a fucking soulmate now, Willy.” He says, and there’s nothing kind about his voice in this moment; none of the usual familiarity he usually saves just for Willy and the token Marlies guy who needs it. Instead he sounds cold, like he’s warning Willy off. “It’s Auston, for Christ’s sake. Your teammate, your fucking _linemate_ , William. And you’re still considering actually making a move? That’s fucking disgusting. Like I knew you were bad in the A, but a bonded guy? That’s just over the fucking line.”

It’s not really that much of a blow.

Willy knows he slept around when he was with the Marlies, insecure about his place and lonely when everyone around him seemed settled. But Willy doesn’t really get what it has to do with him and Mitch; what it has to do about Willy’s willingness to sleep with someone else’s soulmate.

So Willy laughs, loud and mean as he moves closer to where Kappy is still sitting on the bed unmoved, “Oh yeah? What, you’re afraid that Olli might leave you? That he might actually see me a as an option and think, ‘Huh, Willy almost looks Finnish and at least he’s a better hockey player, so why don’t I just fuck him instead.’ Are you really that insecure in yourself, Kappy?”

And now Kappy’s up from the bed, pushing Willy towards the door with stiff movements and harsh grips, “Get the fuck out, right now. I’m not fucking kidding.” He tells him quietly, and. Willy just doesn’t want to deal with it anymore, so he slips out of the room and finds the elevator.

 

Mitch opens the door after three knocks, dressed in nothing but boxers and sleep-tired eyes.

“Hey,” he says softly, hiding a yawn behind his hand as he opens the door for Willy to step in, revealing one of the best to be un-slept in. “What’s up?”

Willy just rolls his eyes, happy that Mitch hadn’t picked up on the tension between the two of them before saying, “Can I stay here for the night? Kappy is pissed for some shitty reason.”

Mitch is already stepping back and letting Willy in before closing the door behind him, “For sure, come on in. I was just about to fall asleep.” He goes to shut off the lights, leaving the room dark except for the shitty lamp next to the bed that does nothing in regard to illumination.

And Willy doesn’t mean to, but they’re standing so close and it’s just so easy to lean in and brush their lips against each other, just a soft pressure before Willy pulls back. And Mitch doesn’t stop him, just watches him with wide eyes as Willy leans in again.

It’s not a great first kiss, it’s too slow and too soft, and Mitch is hesitant. So Willy pulls back and waits, patient and unassuming; and it’s not until Mitch follows him back that he leans in again. It’s better this time, firmer and Mitch actually moving with him, his hands gripping Willy’s hips and stirring him against the wall making them both gasp.

Mitch whines and Willy just, he wants so much and now he can finally have it. So he bites Mitchy’s lip and runs a shaky hand through his hair until one of them is moaning, or maybe it’s both of them – Willy can’t keep track.

He’s about to suggest they move to the bed when he feels something wet falling onto his cheeks, and –

Mitchy is _crying_ , soft and silent as the tears keep falling creating tear stains down his face. And Willy doesn’t know what to do other than hug him, press Mitch against his chest and keep him there until Mitch is full-on sobbing into his neck.

And maybe Willy should have listened to Kappy, listened to _himself_ because he knew this might happen, that Mitch might not return whatever feelings Willy has for him. But he never wanted him to cry, least of all because Willy kissed him.

“Willy, please.” Mitchy says in a soft voice, hoarse. His hands are still clutched in Willy’s shirt, not letting him go but he does pull back, so they’re face to face, watching Willy with teary eyes that’s too sad for someone who had just been kissed by their maybe-soulmate.

“Don’t kick me out, please. I’m sorry, just don’t make me leave, Mitchy, please.” Willy begs softly. And it so fucking unfair, because even if Mitchy’s doesn’t love him _like that_ , he still loves him and would never leave Willy out in the cold. And Willy doesn’t want to move; he can stop the kissing – he doesn’t need to kiss Mitch ever again – but he’s pretty sure he’s going to die if Mitch tells him to leave right now.

Their foreheads are pressed together, chest still flushed, and Mitch still looks so sad, but he nods, pulling Willy even tighter to his chest, “No, of course not Willy. I’m just, please don’t do that, okay? I’m not, I can’t do that –“

But Willy doesn’t need to hear it from Mitch too, that this isn’t going to work. So Willy just nods, quick and painful as he steps back to give Mitch his breath back. “Let’s just. We’ll just sleep, yeah? I promise I won’t do anything. I would never-“

“I know Willy.” Mitch smiles sadly, intertwining his fingers with Willy so he can pull him towards the bed. “I trust you,” he whispers softly as he’s curled in front of Willy, his knees cradling Willy’.

It takes a while but finally Willy falls asleep, unsettled and unhappy.

  
Mitch’s room is already cleared when Willy wakes up. Any signs of Mitchy and Connor living there for the last three days are gone and replaced with a heart-breaking emptiness Willy’s not sure he knows how to deal with.  

There’s an ache in his wrist, and Willy doesn’t need to look at it to know that there is a solid c next to the t.

 

 

They drop the first game back in Toronto.

Willy doesn’t know if he wants to take the entire blame for the L; their passes aren’t connecting, Mitchy too fast for both of them and not inclined to wait around for them tonight, and Johnny getting frustrated when he hits the post instead of the net. So it’s not really a surprise when Babs tries to switch up the lines, putting Mitch back with Kadri and Marleau while Willy is reunited with Zach.

But nothing helps, and Mac is pulled with four minutes left, as if that would be enough to make up for their three-goal deficit.

Mitch doesn’t look at him when they come back to the room, but then, no one is really looking anywhere that isn’t their skates.

Auston comes by to pick up Mitch.

He doesn’t stay for long, just customary hugs and back-slaps as he makes the rounds, “Good game, bud.” He says soft into Willy’s hair, holding him close with his good arm, and Willy can’t find the courage to do anything but hug his tighter. “You’re gonna come back, don’t worry. You and Mitch? The dream team, Wills.”

Willy whines at that, his hand in Auston’s shirt clenching until it hurts more than his over-tired legs. “We need you, Matty. I don’t think we can do it without you.”

But Auston just snorts, light-hearted and soft, before he leans back to look Willy in the eyes, “You don’t need me to win, Willy. You’re just as good a team without me.”

Willy knows it’s not true, knows that Auston is their best player and them coming this far without him has been a miracle. But Auston isn’t here for Willy’s sake, he’s here for Mitch who still looks heartbroken, angry and tired, folded in on himself in his stall. He looks up and catches Willy’s eye, and for a while he just stares at him; eyes a cold blue Willy’s never seen before, searching for something that he doesn’t seem to find if his clenched teeth are a sign. And then he nods, just once, and Willy knows he’ll text him later to figure their shit out.

 

They’re spend their day off between games on the ice, just like before when their line had been born. But this time Tavares isn’t there, and the practice is happening in complete silence.

Willy hates it, but he doesn’t mind doing it if it means they’ll be able to play together again.

He does want to talk to Mitch about what happened, apologise and take it back and promise he’ll never do it again as long as Mitchy stays his friend. But Mitch doesn’t want to talk, doesn’t want to do anything that isn’t hockey.

But it doesn’t matter, because it works.

The Leafs win game four and suddenly they’re on win away from achieving what the Leafs haven’t done since ’04.  They’re going back to Boston to finish it and they’re all shaking with anticipation.

And then Auston announces that he still has to stay in Toronto, that they’re doing something to his shoulder that might make him able to play again – he carefully doesn’t mention round 2, either too afraid to jinx it or to ease the let down if they don’t win another game.

Willy’s father calls and asks him if wants them to fly out; they wouldn’t be able to get tickets – not in Boston during the playoffs – but they would be there to celebrate if they won. Willy declines, partially because he too is afraid of promising too much and not being able to deliver, but also because he’s not sure his father would be his first choice of who to celebrate a round 1 win with.

 

It's a hard-fought game; the checks are getting harder and less clean, and it’s rare a slashing is called, even when Willy feels one of his finger bones popping dangerously when Marchand’s stick hits his hand.

The game ends 1-1 in regulation, and Willy almost wishes it would go straight to a shoot-out with the way he’s close to vibrating out of his skin. Everything feels off; his breath coming out too quickly, his gear sitting oddly on his body and the way he can feel Mitchy’s presence whenever he moves more than a metre away from him. He knows he’s imagine the latter, that soulmates – and especially asymmetrical ones – can’t sense each other’s positions, no matter how strong their bond is.

But Willy is hyper-aware of Mitch when they’re set out on their second shift of OT, the way he skates along the board and fighting for the puck, pulling and pushing until he finally taps it free and shoots it away from Pasta who takes chase after it.

But Willy’s already there, the pass connecting perfectly right on his tape as he weaves through defencemen looking for someone to pass it to. Tavares is still held up at the red line, shoving against Chara who doesn’t move an inch; but Willy feels Mitch move up the ice, dodging who ever is trying to catch up to him before he’s gliding across the goal crease, beautifully open as Willy sauces the puck to Mitch who taps it home ending the game at 2-1 Leafs.

Willy doesn’t who which of them moves first, just that suddenly Willy’s crashing against the boards with his arms full of Mitch who’s screaming loudly into his ears. They fucking _won_ , and Mitch and Willy are the ones to get them there.

Mitchy’s breath hitches just as Mo and Tavares crashes into them, Gards and Freddie and the rest of the team following them onto the ice, one screaming louder than the other. But Mitchy keeps his eyes locked on Willy’s, a strange look of wonder as he looks from his left glove to Willy with a frown.

“Did someone hit you?” Willy yells over the noise, nodding to his hand when Mitch doesn’t respond.

“What? Uh, no – or I don’t think so?” Mitch says confused and Willy does want him to elaborate, but then Mo is pulling them to centre ice and lining up opposite the Bruins for handshakes.

Willy lingers at the end of the line, not wanting to let go of Pasta who looks devastated, but Bergeron comes by with a tight smile and a promise that he’ll take care of him, so Willy lets him go and watches them skates away dejectedly before following whatever is left of his team into the locker room.

 

Willy is just coming out of the shower and putting on his boxers when someone pulls him out of the room and into one of the trainer’s room. Willy wants to protest that he’s not dressed, that he doesn’t need someone to look at his broken finger, but before the words even leave his mouth, Mitch is right there and pressing his lips against Willy’s.

He responds quickly, moving back until he’s leant against the table with Mitch between his legs, and then he barely has to lean in because they’re so close. His mouth is warm against Willy’s, soft and light and perfect as Mitch melts into Willy who has to slide onto the table to keep his balance. But Mitchy follows him step for step, and then there’s a tongue in Willy’s mouth, igniting every bit of insecurities he’s had about this and turning them into small tingles making him smile against Mitchy’s mouth.

But Mitch doesn’t stop the kisses, burying a hand in his hair and pulling him closer. One of them makes a soft noise, not quite a moan but almost, and Willy can’t help but laugh as he pulls back. Mitchy follows, hungry and eager, as he peppers kisses across Willy’s jaw, his throat before pressing one against the corner of his mouth.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Mitch finally says, soft and out of breath and looking like Willy like he’s never seen him before.

“Wha-“ Willy starts to say, but Mitch cuts him off with another kiss, Willy’s legs wrapped around his waist as he pulls him closer to the edge.

“I didn’t, I thought.” He starts quietly, pulling at Willy’s hands until they’re intertwined, “I didn’t think. How could you not tell me?” Mitchy whines, and Willy wants to stop Mitch being sad, but he doesn’t understand what he’s trying to say, why this is happening all of a sudden.

“Mitchy?” he says softly when he leans in once again to kiss Willy’s throat. “You have to tell me, babe.”

And then Mitchy squeezes their hands and raises his left one intertwined with Willy’s until they’re right before his eyes, Mitch’s head still buried in his neck, and. “Oh,” Willy lets out quietly as he untwines their fingers until he’s just gripping Mitch’s at the base of his hand.

Because the middle finger of Mitchy’s left hand is covered in tiny black letters, twirled from the base of his finger till the S conveniently placed just at the tip of his finger in familiar handwriting. “That’s. Um,” Willy says, too stunned to force out an entire sentence as he keeps turning Mitch’s hand to count the letters, “There’s 42, you have – That’s my full name, there on your finger, Mitch.”

Mitch just snorts, wiggling his finger as the letters dance, “You tell me, I don’t think I know anyone with a name as long as yours.”

“Alex,” Willy blurts out, “His is longer, by like 6 letters.” It doesn’t fucking matter, but Mitchy is laughing and leaning into him and nothing fucking matters anymore other than this. “When did it come in?” Willy asks instead.

Mitchy smiles, soft and sweet and for no one but Willy, “During the game, I think. Like when we finally won it, and like, we were against the boards? I felt my finger itch, and I never had that with uh. So I didn’t really know what was happening until I went to the shower and saw your thousands of names written on my finger.”

And that’s yeah, Willy can see that happening; the happiness they shared after that goal surely enough to finally solidify the bond between them.

Willy wants nothing more than to stay here with Mitch, but the noises of the room are getting louder and the guys will be ready to leave. And while Willy wouldn’t mind them knowing, right now is not the right time for Mitchy to reveal he has a second soulmate.

So they separate, reluctant and slow and with plenty of little kisses, until they look somewhat respectable before going into the locker room.

 

They go out with the rest of the team to celebrate at the same club as before, only this time someone must have warned them because a couple of tables have been pushes together and clearly marked off as VIP. There are buckets of ice scattered across the tables with champagne and chilled liquor ready for them, plates of appetizers clearly delivered from an outside source.

Willy makes the rounds, congratulating everyone on a great game and making sure they’re all set before returning to the bar where Kappy is sitting.

They still haven’t talk since Kappy kicked him out of their room; Kappy choosing to stay with Connor and Freddie for the days they were back home. Willy knows he could probably just tell Kappy what’s going on, why he’s with Mitch even though he’s also with Auston; it wouldn’t take more than pushing his sleeve up and showing him the four letters so clearly Mitchy’s that no one would question him.

But Willy doesn’t feel the need to explain himself, not with the things Kappy said, what he accused him off; so Willy stays quiet and seeks out Mitchy who looks just as ready to sneak back to the hotel.

They end up going to Willy and Kappy’s room because Connor and Freddie probably never bothered going to the club, and the chance of Kappy willing entering a room Willy’s currently in is slim to none.

They don’t fuck, but Mitch does strip Willy down and jerks him off, lefthanded and awkward. But the way Willy’s name flashes on his finger with every flick of Mitch’s wrist is enough to get him there quicker than before.

After, Willy sinks to his knees and swallow Mitch down until he’s choking and his eyes watering from the stretch of going down too quickly. “Jesus, Willy.” Mitchy moans, sounding wrecked as he buries a hand in Willy’s hair to keep him in place a he comes up for air.

“You like that, Mitchy?” Willy whispers, voice hoarse but his smile is full of teeth. He’s still chasing his breath, so he uses his hand to keep up the pressure, jerking him off with soft hands until Mitch is hissing. Mitch lets his head fall back against the wall, dark hair messy and all over the place as he rocks his hips up into Willy’s fist.

“Fucking _hell_ , Willy.” Mitch whines as he goes down again; this time not as deep so he has time to adjust, keeping one hand around the base of his dick, “I – yeah, Wills. I fucking love it.” Mitch goes on, his fingers gentle in Willy’s hair, pushing it away and behind his ears until he can look down at him with wide eyes, hazy with pleasure. And if Willy hadn’t just come, he’s sure he would be close to now.

Willy makes a strangled sound as his hands pulls at Mitchy’s hips until the starts to fuck into Willy’s mouth, motions jerky but there’s a certain rhythm to it, predictable as Willy hums around him. And then Mitch is coming, fingers gentling in Willy’s hair until he’s just stroking through it, lazy and sated as Willy pulls back to swallow.

“You good?” Willy says, smiling wide as he climbs back up beside Mitch.

But Mitch just nods and flops out his arms until he’s folded around Willy, their legs tangled together with Mitchy’s head resting on his chest. “Yeah Willy, I’m good.”

 

Willy’s just coming out of the shower when Mitch asks to see his soulmark.

He’s dressed in a pair of London Knights sweats and one of the training camp shirts they’re handed in the beginning of the season, looking incredibly soft as he sits under the covers. “Would that be okay? Like, only if it doesn’t bother you,” He says quietly, reaching out for him when Willy gets close enough to touch.

Willy stumbles onto the bed until he’s resting between Mitch’s legs, his head on Mitch’s chest as he looks up at him with a soft smile, “Of course, Mitchy. It’s your name.”

Willy still hasn’t put his clothes back on, so he just sticks his wrist out and lets Mitch cradle it between his hands.

Mitch’s quiet for a long time, soft fingers just tracing the letters over and over until Willy’s a shivering mess, turned on but having no energy to act on it.

“How long have you had this?”

Willy hums, eyes closed just to drown in the feeling of Mitch’s hands on him, “Since the start of the season, maybe? I think that’s where the M came in.”

Mitch makes a questioning noise, leaning down to kiss his wrist five times before placing one on his forehead, “You didn’t have the entire name to begin with?” Mitch asks just as the door to the room opens.

“William, I think we need to t-“ Kappy says, blunt and loud as he shuts the door behind him, not looking up from his shoes until Mitch lets out a squeak, throwing the covers over Willy who’s still completely naked, “You got to be _fucking_ kidding me.”

And Willy’s done with this. He doesn’t want to deal with Kasperi right now, not when they just progressed to round 2 of the playoffs and Mitchy is lying almost naked in his bed. “Just get out, yeah? This really isn’t your business, Kappy. If you have anything to say, we can talk at home – otherwise, find another place to sleep tonight.” Willy says, sitting up in the bed to cover Mitch who still hasn’t said a thing since Kappy’s entrance.

Kappy looks to be on the edge of saying something else when his eyes lock in on the hand running through Willy’s hair, eyes going incredibly wide before turning soft, “Oh, you’re – that’s. He’s your soulmate.”

But Willy just sighs, looks up at Mitch who looks a bit better now but still spooked, “Yeah.”

“Your soulmate is Mitch, who’s soulmate is also Auston. Auston who’s back home in Toronto.”

“Yes Kappy, the poison for Kuzco, Kuzco’s fucking poison. Anything else you want to add?” Willy says blandly, checking in with Mitch once again before he stands up to put on some clothes.

“Willy, man. I’m so sorry, I didn’t know. If you would just have to me, I would’ve never-“

“But you did. And that fucking sucks, Kasu.” Willy cuts him off, crossing the room until he’s crowding him against the door. “I didn’t tell you, fair enough. But you didn’t ask, you just Iassumed sleeping with someone bonded just for the sake of it is something I would do, and that’s on you.” Willy tells him quietly, making sure it’s low enough that Mitch can’t hear them; this isn’t a conversation he wants Mitchy to listen in on, not when Kappy and him are still on the outs like this.

And for once, Kappy doesn’t argue.

Kappy nods once, stepping back with once last pat on Willy’s back before turning towards the door, “I know it’s not really a great time, but.” he says cautiously, looking back to catch Willy’s eyes before looking at Mitch, “Auston has been trying to get in touch with you; Mo was looking for you and apparently the group chat is blowing up. So you should probably call him back, just. When the time is right, yeah?” And then he’s shutting the door behind him.

 

Mitch stays the night, but Willy does slip out of the room to meet up with Kappy in the lobby while Mitch calls Auston. It’s not a long call, they both decided to wait to tell him, that Mitch would do it in person as soon as they get back to Toronto.

Willy is still hurt when he leaves Kappy by the bar, but he understands where he’s coming from; how it wasn’t really about Willy and Mitch cheating on Auston, but more his concern of what would happen to Willy if Mitch picked Auston over him.

It hurts less when Kappy puts it like that, “I was just looking out for you, Wills. Didn’t want you to get hurt.” There’s still tension between them when Mitchy texts him that it’s alright to come back to the room; but for once in a very long time, Willy is hopeful about what’s to come.

 

 

They’ve only been back in Toronto for a day when Mitch shows up on their door step looking sad and defeated, asking if it’s okay he stays here for a while.

He doesn’t want to talk about, but at some point, he starts to clue Willy in on what happened between him and Auston when he told him. It’s not that Willy had expected him to be fully accepting and just inviting Willy into their lives without any in-depth explanation but kicking Mitch out of his own house by yelling at him and making him feel worse than he already did, was not how he thought Auston might react.

Willy doesn’t mention him after that.

They have a couple of days off since they only had to play five games against the Bruins, and Babs had magnanimously agreed to not have practice until after at least a three-day break. And even then, Auston isn’t on the ice with them. The experimental thing they were trying didn’t work and it doesn’t look good for round 2 either.

The Sabres lose to the Lightening, but they took them to game six and it’s more than they’ve had in a long time. It also means that Willy and Kappy’s couches get taken over by Rasmus and Alex who are not ready to leave North America.

It gets a bit crowded with five people in an apartment meant for three persons max, but Willy likes having them all around; Kappy on one side and Mitchy on the other, Alex cuddled up with Rasmus in one of the armchairs, still sulking but more open to actually talking now that the loss is further away.

It’s not really a surprise, but Mitch and Alex get on like a house on fire, chirping Willy and coming up with stories about the OHL that Willy doesn’t try to follow; at some points they find out that they actually had met before Willy introduces them.

“You did ball hockey with the Strome’s?” Mitch blurts when Alex mentions someone from Mississauga.

Alex lights up, smiling in a way he hasn’t done since coming around the apartment, “Yeah, well. It’s really more ball hockey with the McLeod’s, isn’t it?” he chirps and then Mitchy is off, defending Dylan with a fierceness that he definitely doesn’t deserve.

Mitch mentions visiting his family before round 2 starts, and there’s a very strong undertone of him wanting Willy to come along. But they both know it’s a bad idea when things with Auston is still on the outs, and Mitchy would somehow have to explain why he suddenly only brought one of his soulmates when both of them should be free.

He comes home with eyes a little bit clearer, heart a little lighter as he sits down next to Willy in the couch, “You have to come with me the next time.” He hums softly, watching Kappy pushing Alex down from the couch with a grin, “They can’t wait to meet you.”

Willy rolls his eyes but agrees, “Yeah, of course, Mitchy.”

 

 

Willy doesn’t know if it’s the knocking or his phone that wakes him up. Maybe it’s Mitch who’s kicking him in his sleep and mumbling something about making the noises stop; whatever it is it’s enough to get him out of bed and into something almost resembling an outfit before opening the door.

Auston doesn’t say much as they walk towards the 24-hour diner close to his and Kappy’s apartment, and it’s not until they’ve both ordered coffee – Willy’s decaf and Auston’s with two sugars, please – that he finally looks Willy in the eyes.

“Did you know that Mitch wasn’t born with my name?” Auston asks him quietly, but it’s not really a question; the entire league – at least the younger ones – know the story about Mitch and Auston and how they were always destined to be together. “It’s not really a lie, but. Mitch only got my name on his wrist five months after he was born, after I was named.

“It’s not like either of us really know the difference, Mitch was too young to remember, and. I don’t really care.” Auston shrugs, pauses to take a sip of coffee without breaking his stare at Willy, “I know there is a lot of rumours about us, how we met, our marks, Mitch _bribing_ the Leafs to take him because I would follow.” They both shake their head at that one, but Willy has heard it before; angry ‘15’ers who’re still mad about their draft ranking and despite Mitchy’s Calder nomination still believes he faked his way onto the Leafs.

“Mitchy and I met in 2013. Dvo – Christian Dvorak who played on the Knights – saw my name on his wrist, and like. There’s not a lot of Austons playing professional hockey, so he introduced us.” Auston shrugs again, but there’s a soft smile tugging at his mouth now. “We were young and didn’t know shit about having a relationship. We had done everything together, and at some point, we started to wonder if that was for the best, or if we should try and be with someone else, just for the sake of saying that we had.”

It shouldn’t make Willy frown, but it does, but he really doesn’t have any legs to stand on when it comes to Mitch being with other people, so he shuts up.

“So when I left for Switzerland in 2015, we decided to see other people. Or, we decided that Mitchy should see other people.”

“You didn’t want to try it out?” Willy asks softly, shuffling his feet at the intense look Auston sends him.

“No. Mitchy was – Mitch _is_ it for me. I didn’t need to sleep with other people to know that, but I understood that Mitch might. So he started to sleep with people in the O, teammates or opponents when they had a free bed for the night. But every time he would come back to his billets and call me and tell me that it didn’t feel right, that he didn’t like sleeping with someone who wasn’t me. So at some point he just, stopped.”

There’s a pregnant pause before Auston’s gaze changes into something sharper, meaner as he says, “Which is why it surprised me when he told me the two of you fucked.” Willy flinches back at the crudeness, his teeth clenching together as he grips his cup hard enough to spill a bit of coffee over his fingers.

“That’s, I – Auston.”

But Auston just shakes his head and continues, “Have you ever tried hyper-focusing on one thing, so you just ignore everything else? I just, I heard him say that you slept together and. Everything after that was just, useless to me, it didn’t matter anymore because my soulmate and _my best friend_ , Willy. Decided to sleep together while I was at home and injured, and I just. I couldn’t take it, I got so mad and I just started yelling at him.”

“You yelled at Mitchy?” Willy asks quietly, he can feel the frown growing until it almost hurts looking at Auston.

Auston snorts, but it’s a bit happier, fond because he knows that Mitch hates people being mad at him; Mitch is great at constructive criticism, even when it’s being yelled at him. But if someone is angry with him when he doesn’t understand or want them to, Mitch retreats into himself, miserable and hurt.

“I did,” He says a bit more sombre, finishes his coffee in one go. “So he left and went to you, which, you obviously know. And for a couple of days, I didn’t really care, you know? He cheated with you – _you_ slept with my soulmate – so why should I be the bigger man? And then Kappy came by for one of my practices with Freddie, and we had a talk.”

“Oh,” Willy says, because Kappy hadn’t mentioned anything about running into Auston. Nothing that might have swayed Auston to meet up with either of them, but apparently he did.

“He uh, he told me that Mitchy was staying with you, which obviously. Then he said that it was a shitty thing you had done, but that he understood why it had happened like that. And I just, I didn’t understand,” Auston tells him, slowly but clearly, like he might have practiced this before seeking him out.

“I told him that cheating is never an okay thing to do, especially not the way you two had done it, and he just said, ‘Well, if you had just found out you had a second soulmate, wouldn’t you act a bit crazy too?’ When I didn’t react, he just shoved one of the pictures you had sent him into my face – one of Mitchy’s hand wrapped around your wrist so I could see both of your names – I didn’t know what to say, so I just left.

“I don’t know if my reaction would be different if he had mentioned that you were soulmates before bringing up the sex,” Auston says honestly before sighing. He sounds exhausted, the bags underneath his eyes more pronounced than ever, and his eyes are red and puffy like he hasn’t had a proper sleep in a long time, “My point is, I understand you getting together – I would have wanted the same thing if you had been with him first – but it was shitty of you to hook up without telling me first. It’s still cheating even when he’s your soulmate, Wills. And you are my best friend, you know how much he means to me. And the way you did it made me feel like you didn’t respect our relationship – either of them!”

Auston is breather heavily at this point, his chest heaving, and Willy’s just doesn’t think before he acts, moving from his side of the booth until he’s flushed to Auston’s side.

“I’m so sorry, Matty.” Willy begs, soft and kind and every other feeling he’s ever felt for Auston just pouring out of his mouth, “You know I love you, you _have_ to know that.”

“I do Willy, that’s why it hurts so much.” Auston forces out quietly, speaking into Willy’s hair as he puts an arm around him. “I love you, both of you, and I would never stand in your way, but. You made me feel irrelevant, like I wasn’t a part of this relationship, like Mitchy wasn’t mine anymore.”

Willy sniffles, wet and disgusting, but Auston doesn’t seem to mind. “I never wanted to make you feel that way, Matts. But like, maybe we should have this discussion with Mitchy instead? Like, obviously I want to apologise more, but perhaps he would like a say in things too?”

Which, “Oh,” Auston says with a tiny smirk, “Yeah, he probably has a thing or two to say about this.”

 

Auston walks him back to his place where his car is parked, and Willy almost lets him slip into the car, hesitating before saying, “Do you want to come inside? Mitchy’s still asleep, but like. You could sleep in the bed with him, and then we could talk tomorrow?”

Auston looks at him, searching for something he doesn’t seem to find before nodding, once. “I would like that, Willy.”

The apartment is still filled with hockey players – Rasmus and Alex spread out on the couches, too big to take up just once, but stubborn enough to keep touching – so they have to be quiet, removing their shoes and jackets before even entering the place.

Mitch _is_ still asleep when Willy tip-toes into the room, spread out diagonally across the bed and taking up all four of the pillows but somehow without one underneath his head. Willy almost doesn’t want to risk wakening him, wondering if both he and Auston could fit next to Kappy. But Auston doesn’t seem to have the same struggles, ripping off his jeans and socks before pushing Mitchy into the middle of the bed before spooning up behind him.

That does wake him up, or at least partially, because Mitchy smacks his lips twice before sighing, “Aus, is’at you?”

And Auston, fond and already halfway to sleep, just laughs and reaches blindly for Mitchy’s wrist, squeezing it until they’re both smiling, “Yeah, it’s me, mouse.”

“Where’s Willy? Did you kick ‘im out?”

Auston looks over at Willy who still hasn’t removed a shred of clothing, like he’s evaluating him before he finally nods to the other side of Mitch, “Nah Mitchy, he’s right here.”

Willy strips quicker than ever and then crawls in beside Mitch, warm and content as he seeks him out with his other hand, the one with Willy’s name on it, “I’m right here, Mitch.”

 

Mitch wakes up with a startle and then promptly kicks them both out of bed for meeting up without him. Then he asks Willy to pack a bag and stuffs all three of them into the stupid sports car Auston brought that wasn’t made to fit more than two people at most before driving to their place.

It’s not a nice discussion they have; there’s a lot of yelling – mainly Mitch – and Auston getting frustrated and snarking back harsher than Willy’s ever heard him talk before. But it helps, and they somehow come to an agreement about what they are.

There’s a moment where Auston mentions the possibility of two separate relationships – “A poly V,” Mitchy supplies sourly – and Willy knows that might be what Auston wants, what _Mitch_ might want, but. It doesn’t sit right with him, to be with Mitch without Auston when the sole idea of one is so intertwined with the other.

It doesn’t last though. Mitch protesting that of course the two of them would start loving each other like they did him, rolling his eyes and goading them into at least trying to kiss. It’s childish – Mitch mostly, but also them for giving in to it – but it works; Auston leaning in and cradling Willy’s head with a care he hasn’t felt before, kissing him with chapped lips and bad breath from not brushing his teeth. And Willy just melts into it, moving closer until their chests are touching and fingers intertwined; the only noise are the sounds coming from Mitch, soft breaths, eager and appreciating.

It’s different from what he has with Mitch.

Mitch was always a friend first and a teammate second, so the transition into not-friend was easier. Auston is so inherently interwoven with everything Willy connects with hockey that he feels a bit more hesitant about leaning in and touching him in a way that’s not strictly bros; holding or being held by Auston, touching his ass without flinching away after the five seconds that would be appropriate with a teammate.

The way they are together is different too.

With Mitchy and him being the same size, it’s more like a push and pull; both of them struggling to come out on top. But Auston just. He yields whenever Willy pushes, going soft and following where he guides him, whining when he holds down Auston’s wrist and tells him to watch how deep Mitchy can take him, content to just jerk himself off if he can watch Mitch and Willy get off together. It’s so unlike any of the other guys Willy’s been with that’s been bigger than him – domineering and controlling, telling Willy to shut up because he’s prettier with a dick in his mouth than talking shit – but then, with Mitchy being Auston’s only sexual reference, Willy wouldn’t expect anything else.

Auston’s soulmark turns out to be underneath his foot, _Mitchell_ in stark letters between his heel and his toes. It tingles when Willy touches it, not like when Mitch brushes his finger against any of Willy’s skin, but there’s definitely something there; a ‘could be – maybe someday’.

But, as Willy learns lying in Auston’s arms while watching Mitchy and Alex beat Kappy and Rasmus in a game of chicken, Willy doesn’t need to wait for Auston to become his soulmate to fall in love with him.

 

They don’t win a cup that summer.

Willy doesn’t go as far as to say he doesn’t really care – hockey will also be his first love, there when no one else was – but it gets close, as he sits in the sun on a far away Greek island with his friends and family; the cup final all but forgotten until Kappy checks his phone for updates.

Willy has a soulmate, a boyfriend, and two contracts saying they can spend the rest of their careers playing on the same team; they have the rest of their lives to win cup.

**Author's Note:**

> Content warning: Willy kisses Mitch while they’re drunk; he doesn’t ask for permission and Mitch doesn’t feel comfortable and starts to cry during the kiss. Willy does pull back when he notices and stops any advances. They do share a bed after that, but nothing happens. 
> 
> along the same thread, Mitch does cheat on Auston with Willy. so if any of that triggers you, i would suggest not reading this story! 
> 
> untagged characters/relationships:  
> Connor Brown/Freddie; Morgan Rielly/Jake Gardiner; Kappy/Olli Maatta; Zach Hyman; Nazem Kadri; Nicklas Backstrom; John Tavares.


End file.
